


Give The Dog A Bone

by La_Temperanza



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Armpit Kink, Bestiality, Come Eating, Crack, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Scent Kink, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Canon AU, set after season one</i>--When Merlin is hit with the spell intended for Arthur, he turns into a more incompetent manservant than usual.</p><p>Strangely enough, Arthur's not really complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give The Dog A Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Um wow, I don't even know where to begin with this. But I want to thank the whole PL chat for cheering me on, and especially Bloodsongs, Deminos, and Zaira for looking this over for me. This turned out to be more "Plot With Porn" than I would have liked, but oh well.
> 
> (Cheesy title is cheesy, I know this.)

Arthur stares at the black dog in front of him.

The dog--which was Arthur’s bumbling manservant just a few seconds ago--stares back. And then lets out a very pitiful whimper.

“...Great,” Arthur says dryly, and lets out a long suffering sigh. “Just _great_.”

***

“What were you thinking, _Mer_ lin?” Arthur asks as they ride back to Camelot. Well, he rides while Merlin walks by his side, mindful not to get trampled under hooves. Because as comical as it would be to see a dog riding upon a horse, there's no way Merlin could take control of the reins in his current state. He already has a hard enough time riding when human without things like paws to complicate matters. “What sort of idiot steps in front of a sorceress when she's in the midst of casting a spell?”

Merlin huffs, which Arthur takes to be his way of saying, _“I think you mean, ‘Thank you Merlin, for taking the blow meant for me and saving my royal backside yet again.’”_

Except Arthur isn’t supposed to know about that. Apparently he's supposed to be completely oblivious to the fact that his fool of a manservant is a little bit magical himself, and has been secretly helping Arthur and the rest of the kingdom from the sidelines all this time. As if he's supposed to believe that he has defeated enchanted beasts while knocked unconscious, and that tree limbs falling conveniently on top of bandits’ heads is just an everyday occurrence.

Frankly, it's a little insulting. So instead of asking right away if there's a spell Merlin could use to turn himself back, Arthur plans on keeping Merlin like this as some sort of punishment. Just for a little bit.

But he changes his mind the moment he looks down at Merlin. Even as a dog, Merlin’s mood is as easy to read as always. His eyes are downcast, his ears are lowered, and his movements are sluggish and half-hearted. It’s obvious that he blames himself for what’s happened, maybe even more than Arthur does. Merlin is worried, which in turn has Arthur worried. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“...Don’t worry, I’m sure Gaius will think of something,” Arthur says, and before he realizes it, he’s reaching down to pat Merlin on the head. Merlin stills, and lifts his gaze from the ground to look at Arthur oddly. If dogs had eyebrows (do they? Arthur isn’t sure), Arthur bets one of Merlin’s would be raised right now in a highly questioning manner. No doubt he’s perfected the skill under Gaius’s mindful teaching.

Arthur pulls back his hand quickly, and coughs. “I--” he starts to say, but then he remembers that as Crown Prince, he technically doesn’t have to explain his actions to anyone, let alone to a servant. “...Right then, let’s keep going.”

***

“Sire! I thought you were supposed to be off a hunting trip for a few days?” Gaius asks the moment Arthur enters the physician's chambers. "Is there something the matter?"

"Well, you see..."

Before Arthur can finish the rest of his awkward explanation (which he may or may not have rehearsed in his head on the way back), Merlin barrels past him and into the room. He jumps up so his front paws are resting on the edge of the work bench, and he noses Gaius's hand urgently, whining.

"No, down! Arthur, can you please restrain your--" Gaius says, and then stops to do a double take. "... _Merlin_? Merlin, my boy, is that you?"

Arthur's eyes widen in shock. "You mean, you can actually recognize him like this?"

Merlin and Gaius share a look, and Gaius clears his throat. "Ah! Well! It was simply an educated guess," he says offhandedly, in that sort of _"magic is involved somehow but we're not going to tell you about it"_ tone Arthur has come to know (and hate) so well. "What's happened to him?"

Arthur scratches the back of his neck, not sure how to even begin. "It's kind of a long story..."

***

"...so the sorceress escaped while we were distracted, and then we came back to Camelot to see you right away," Arthur says, taking in a deep breath once he's finished his tale. "So what do you think, Gaius, is there something you can do for him? Or am I'm going to be stuck with a servant that's even more useless than usual?"

Merlin growls in protest from the corner, and then goes back to eating a plate of roast meat Gaius has set out for him. Arthur doesn’t know if his sudden hunger stems from some sort of dog instincts kicking in, or the fact that Merlin had been grumbling earlier about missing breakfast _and_ lunch because of Arthur's "stupid hunting trip."

Later, Arthur will ask the kitchen staff about preparing an extra serving for whenever Merlin fetches the prince’s meals from now on. It's not like Arthur's that concerned about Merlin's well being, he just doesn't want rumors that he's starving his manservant to start circulating around the castle. He’s being pragmatic is all.

"I'm not quite sure yet, your highness," Gaius says, flipping through one of his books. "It might take me awhile to find the spell that was used, and even longer to figure out how to reverse it. This sorceress, did she say why she attacked you?"

Arthur snorts and rolls his eyes. "We didn't exactly exchange pleasantries, Gaius. Besides, I think we both know the reason why someone with magic would have a grudge against a Pendragon."

"I understand," Gaius says, reaching over to give Arthur a comforting pat on the shoulder. "What are you going to tell your father?"

Oh gods, Arthur didn't even think about that. If Uther caught wind of a witch living in a shack deep in the woods, he'd probably be tempted to set the trees ablaze just to smoke her out. "...I hardly think the situation warrants his attention. Not yet at least."

There's a moment of smothering silence as both Merlin and Gaius openly gape at him. Merlin even has his mouth hanging open, stopped mid-chew. Which is disgusting, but very very Merlin.

 _Don't look at me like that,_ Arthur thinks darkly. _Is it_ that _hard for you to trust me? Do you really think I'm so much like him?_

He knows that just a short time ago, the answer would've been a resounding yes, and Arthur would've been proud of it. But as he's grown older, he's begun to recognize his father's rantings and ravings about magic for what they truly are. He knows his thoughts could be considered treasonous if they ever got out, but he'd rather his rule be more diplomatic than Uther's preferred method of executing first, and maybe ask questions later.

"...Sire?"

"It's just that, I don't think she poses any real harm to Camelot. In fact, I think she's actually located outside our borders," Arthur says, keeping his voice as nonchalant as possible. He even throws in a shrug for good measure. "And she probably attacked us not so much for vengeance against the crown, but more of...we may have accidentally trampled her flower garden?"

Merlin lets out a low woof, and Arthur's shoots a glare in his direction. "Fine. I accidentally trampled her flower garden, even after someone tried to warn me the place was magical and should be considered sacred. Happy?"

"I see," Gaius says, watching the exchange between the two of them without comment, his reproachful tone saying it all. "In that case, I think it's best if Merlin stays with you for the time being. If anyone asks, maybe we can say Merlin went back to Ealdor for a visit."

"What?" Arthur exclaims, blinking. "Why me? Why can't he stay with you?"

There's a loud crash as Merlin knocks down a tray of medical equipment off the table in search for more food. He slinks away with a guilty expression on his face, tail tucked between his legs, and hides under the bench.

Under the scrutiny of Gaius's raised eyebrow (it really is a ~~terrifying~~ thing to behold), Arthur sighs and throws his hands up in defeat. "Come on then, Merlin. I guess you can be a complete nuisance someplace else for a while."

***

The plan is to keep Merlin out of sight in Arthur's chambers while they search for a solution. Arthur prays to every divinity imaginable that Gaius finds the answer within a week, and that it won’t be something overly complicated. Because while Merlin is a lousy servant, he's still _Arthur's_ servant. And Arthur would rather keep it that way.

(Just because he doesn’t want to go through the hassle of hiring a new one, of course.)

But after an hour or two, it becomes apparent that hiding Merlin away for the entire time isn't exactly going to work. Arthur is going over the granary reports again (he hoped they would be less boring after the third readthrough--surprise, surprise, they aren't) when Merlin starts pacing in front of the bedroom door. His nails _click-click-click_ loudly on the stone floor as he walks back and forth, back and forth, until finally Arthur can't stand it any longer.

"Merlin!" he shouts, slamming his fists down on the desk. " _Stop. Pacing._ I can't concentrate when you're doing that."

Merlin stops in his tracks, but then begins to whine softly. He paws at the door, scratching urgently into the wood, leaving behind marks that will have to be buffed out later. It looks like he's trying to tell Arthur something important.

The problem is, Arthur has enough trouble understanding what goes through his manservant's head when Merlin's a human, let alone when he's a dog. "Look, I don't like you being stuck in here any more than you do, but you heard Gaius. It's best if people think you're away for a little bit. If my father were to find out what happened..."

Arthur grimaces. He doesn't want to think about what Uther would do. Not just to the sorceress, but to Merlin as well. No doubt the fact that Merlin took the impact of the spell for Arthur would go right over Uther's head; he'd probably have no qualms about leaving Merlin like this, or worse.

"The point is," Arthur says, "you're better off staying in here until Gaius can cure you. In fact, you should be grateful. Not only are you excused from all your chores--though you were rubbish at them anyway--I'm also having your meals delivered here, so--"

Merlin interrupts with another whine, and begins to prance anxiously in place. He turns his attention back towards the door, his legs squirming in a somewhat familiar gesture.

It only takes a second before it clicks in Arthur's head. "...You can't be serious."

***

Despite Arthur's earlier reservations of being seen, he and Merlin manage to traverse through the citadel and lower town with seemingly no one the wiser. A few of the townspeople did point at Merlin as he passed by, but that's because the idiot trotted through the streets with one of his usual scarves tied around his neck.

Personally, Arthur thought the damn thing looked ridiculous, and was going to get them both caught. But then he was struck by a startling realization: Merlin was walking around, practically _naked_. And, well, a neckerchief didn't completely deter the image of Merlin's bare human body from Arthur's mind, but it certainly helped.

...Not that Arthur has thought about such things ~~often~~ , mind you.

Arthur is waiting near the treeline for Merlin to finish his business--he’s certain Merlin is taking his sweet time to be obstinate, and not because he's in trouble, because Arthur is _not_ getting worried and he’s _definitely not_ going to go after Merlin if he doesn't come back in the next five seconds--when he hears a familiar voice from behind him: "...Sire?"

Arthur startles, and then turns sharply on his heel, plastering a smile on his face. It's not that hard, considering it's Gwen, dear sweet Gwen, who is standing a couple of feet away. Even if she is looking at him rather oddly. "Guinevere! What are you doing out here?"

"I was out picking flowers for Morg--I mean, the Lady Morgana," Gwen says, gesturing to the basket tucked in the crook of her elbow. "Though I was going to ask you the same thing." She pauses, and as if she realizes the boldness of her words, she grows flustered and quickly adds, "Not that you have to explain anything to me, of course! You are more than welcome to do whatever you wish, but you already know that, so..."

Arthur's smile widens. He likes Gwen, and greatly appreciates her words and guidance. She's like Merlin in that she'll speak her mind if passionate enough about the subject, but unlike Merlin, she’ll then remember it's untoward for servants to rebuke their masters. At one time, Arthur might have been interested in forming a closer relationship with her. That is, if Morgana wouldn't flay him alive for stealing what is rightfully hers.

"It's quite all right," he says, and then flounders as he mentally scrambles for a reason why he's just standing around, doing nothing. "I was just..."

As if on cue, Merlin finally makes his reappearance, bumbling through the underbrush like he has all the time in the world. He spots Gwen and makes a beeline towards her, wagging his tail in his approach.

"Oh! Hello," Gwen says, and bends down to give Merlin a tentative pat on the head when she sees he's tamed. "Where did you come from?"

Arthur opens his mouth to tell the truth, but stops. Of course he would trust Gwen to keep their secret safe; in fact, he can’t think of any other person he would trust more. Except for maybe Morgana, and that wouldn’t be so much as trust as her worming the information out of him by ways of physical, emotional, and mental manipulation.

But in case this whole thing does blow up in their faces, the fewer people involved, the better. He doesn’t want Gwen dragged into any fiasco that can occur if Uther finds out what’s happened.

"...He's mine," Arthur says, wishing he brought some sort of lead to show as an example of ownership. "I'm out getting him some exercise."

Merlin looks up at that with a confused tilt of his head. He probably thinks the same thing as Arthur did, in that Gwen can be told the truth. Hell, considering how close the two of them are, it's possible that Gwen even knows about Merlin's magic already. Because he chose to tell her, and _not_ Arthur.

Arthur tries not to let the possibility rankle him as he mouths _"I'll explain later"_ over Gwen's head.

"He's adorable," Gwen says, cooing--actual honest to goodness _cooing_ \--over Merlin, her flowers forgotten for the time being. "And he seems to have such a sweet temperament too."

Arthur snorts, and tries to cover it up with a cough so he doesn't accidentally offend Gwen. It's just that "adorable" and "sweet temperament" are not how he would describe Merlin, and not just because Arthur would rather impale himself on his own sword before adding the word "adorable" to his daily vocabulary. "He's just a dog, Guinevere."

Gwen seems to take offense at that, and even covers Merlin's ears as if to block out Arthur's apparently hurtful words. "He's still a living creature who has feelings," she says, petting Merlin's coat with a frown. "Has he even been fed properly? He's all skin and bones."

That's twice in one day that his servant's dietary needs have been brought to Arthur's attention, and he wonders if he has to start forcing Merlin to eat, just to fatten him up. "I just rescued him actually, from bandits, who nearly starved him to death," he says, spinning up a quick lie that would land him back in Gwen's good graces. He ignores the sparkle of amusement in Merlin's eyes; knowing him, he's probably getting a kick out of all of this. "But don't worry, I will personally be in charge of Merlin's meals from now on, so he won't--"

"'Merlin'?" Gwen asks. "Has he not been eating properly either? I've always been worried about that; between serving you and doing errands for Gaius, he seems to be running around ragged most of time."

 _Shit._ Arthur inwardly curses at himself at the slip of the tongue. He was doing so well too.

"Oh, but don't worry!" Gwen says when she misunderstands the odd expression on Arthur's face. "Merlin might complain a lot, but he really is happy being your servant...I think."

"... _Right_ ," Arthur says, strained, and then clears his throat. "Right, of course. Which is why, when we were hunting, I noticed we were a day's ride from Ealdor and decided to give Merlin a week or two off to spend with his mother. As...gratitude for his services."

Merlin is definitely laughing at him now, if the rapid huffs of air coming out his mouth are any indication. Arthur shoots him a glare that threatens two weeks in the stocks for such insubordination, but Merlin ignores the warning in typical fashion.

"That's most generous of you, Sire," Gwen says with a soft smile. But there's some hesitance in her voice, like she finds the concept of Arthur giving Merlin time off too hard to believe. Does Arthur really come off as such as cruel person to work for?

The time he used his servant as living target practice doesn't count. Nor does the time before that where he made the kitchen send up seven separate meals before he changed his mind and determined he wasn’t that hungry after all. As for the incident with the shield and the river, how was he supposed to know the man couldn't swim? And then--

Okay, so maybe he can be a _bit_ harsh at times.

"It was his idea!" Arthur blurts out, gesturing to Merlin wildly and probably coming off as a madman in the process. "Merlin's, I mean, for me to keep the dog until he comes back. He had this strange notion that I would need the company while he was gone. The idiot even named it after himself."

"He certainly reminds you of Merlin, don't you think?" Gwen asks, scratching behind Merlin's ears. “He even has his own neckerchief.”

Merlin wags his tail happily in response to all the attention, and then even goes as far as to roll onto his back, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as Gwen rubs his belly.

It's probably the most disturbing thing Arthur has ever experienced, and that's including the instance with the Afanc.

He tells himself he's not jealous (what would he be jealous of? Not of Merlin for getting belly rubs from Gwen, and certainly not of Gwen for being able to touch Merlin so freely) and clears his throat again. "Yes, well, Merlin and I need to get going, so if you excuse us..."

Seemingly remembering she was in the middle of an errand before, Gwen nods and gathers up her things. "Yes, of course! I'm sorry to have kept you."

She curtsies to Arthur and waves goodbye to Merlin before scurrying off. As soon as she's out of earshot, Arthur turns on Merlin and hisses, "You are positively _shameless_."

Merlin gives him what could only be a satisfied grin.

***

A week passes by, and soon everyone has grown used to the sight of an unusual black dog by Arthur’s side. Arthur’s tried to leave Merlin in his chambers as he goes about his daily duties, but somehow Merlin always manages to escape, probably by using magic. After the third time it happens, Arthur gives up, and determines if anyone finds Merlin out, it's his own damn fault.

The townspeople (especially the children) try to ply Merlin with food scraps whenever he passes by for exchange of a trick, and the guards will sometimes break protocol to give him a pat on the head. All of the servants love him instantly thanks to Gwen, and soon gifts and trinkets are being delivered to Arthur’s door that aren't for him, but for _Merlin_.

Not surprisingly, Arthur's father is not amongst Merlin's adoring fans. Uther thinks that dogs, just like horses or servants, are expendable tools to be used.

"Arthur," he says one day after another boring but necessary council meeting is adjourned. "A word, before you leave."

"Yes Sire," Arthur says, though there's nothing he wants to do more than check on Merlin. There’s certain areas of the castle that Merlin's just not allowed to enter as a dog, much to his and Arthur’s dismay. There’s already been a few whispers that no one knows who looks more depressed by this: Merlin, waiting right outside the council door, or Arthur, waiting for the meetings to be over.

Once the room is empty, Arthur asks, "You wanted to speak to me, Father?"

"Yes, it's about that dog of yours," Uther says, pouring himself a goblet of wine. "I can't help but notice you take it practically everywhere. I heard it even sleeps with you?"

Dread pools in Arthur's stomach. He recognizes the tone in his father's voice, and can already sense what direction this lecture is heading. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. Mer--It stays in my chambers at night, yes, but it doesn't sleep with me," he says, even though it's a lie. After the first night of watching Merlin trying (and failing) to get comfortable on the rug in front of the fire, Arthur determined his bed big enough to share. While the original agreement was for Merlin to stay at the foot of the mattress, somehow they always end up curled against each other in the morning, Merlin’s soft snoring in his ear.

Strangely enough, Arthur doesn't mind as much as he thought he would. Even if Merlin’s morning breath smells like something died in his mouth overnight.

Uther seems to consider Arthur’s explanation, and then takes a sip of wine. "Still, you've become much too attached to the creature recently,” he says. “Get rid of it.”

Damn it, this is exactly what Arthur was trying to avoid. If he’s not careful, Merlin could be killed, simply because Arthur’s father wants to teach his son a lesson. “But Father, you don’t understand--”

“You are too old for such nonsense, Arthur. It’s a wild animal, and should be treated as such. Get rid of it, or I _will_.”

Arthur suppresses a shudder at Uther’s words, and knows they are no idle threat. Now he’s anxious to check on Merlin more than ever. “Yes, Sire,” he says, bowing his leave. He's learned better than to try and change the king's mind once it's set. Instead, he'll just have to go behind Uther's back, yet again.

The fact that Arthur has grown so accustomed to hiding the truth from his father speaks volumes about the nature of their relationship. But he doesn't want to think about such things right now; like he's assessing the infection of a scabbed over wound, he'll poke and prod at it later, preferably alone with a full wineskin in hand.

Fear seizes him when he leaves the council room to discover Merlin isn’t waiting in his normal spot. For a second he thinks his father has already taken Merlin away to be dealt with, and Arthur almost forgets to breathe. It’s his fault, his fault, if only the stupid idiot would have stayed where he’s supposed to--

“I told Gwen you were going to be a while longer, so she took Merlin down to the seamstress to make him new neckerchiefs,” Morgana explains as she steps out of the shadows of a nearby alcove. “Honestly, out of you two, I don’t know who dotes on him more.”

Arthur exhales a sigh of relief at the news that Merlin’s safe for the time being, and then allows himself to focus on Morgana’s last remark. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh please, Arthur. You try to act all tough, but everyone can see how much you’re smitten by that dog.” Morgana smirks in that infuriating way of hers, like a cat toying with an injured mouse. “I think it’s kind of cute, but then again, I know the truth.”

“ _How the hell do you_ \--” Arthur pauses, and then tugs her farther down the hall, away from anyone who could overhear. “Who told you? Was it Gaius?”

“No one has to tell me anything, not when it’s so obvious,” Morgana says, rolling her eyes. “You’re acting this way because you miss Merlin. The _real_ Merlin. It’s only been a week since he’s been gone, yet you’ve been moping about like you lost your best friend in the world.”

“I--” Arthur splutters, staring at Morgana in horror. “ _I do not miss Merlin_!”

Judging by the way Morgana’s cackling laughter bounces off the walls, she doesn’t believe him one bit.

***

The thing is, Arthur really does miss Merlin. It’s a ridiculous notion, considering Merlin didn’t actually go anywhere, but he does.

Arthur misses how Merlin isn’t reserved in showing his amusement, smiling so widely the corners of his eyes crinkle. He misses the sound and lilt of Merlin’s voice, even it’s to complain about something Arthur has done or to wake Arthur up before the sun has fully risen. He misses Merlin’s off-tune humming as he tidies about the room, Merlin’s remembering to include an extra honey cake during meals because they’re Arthur’s favorite, and even Merlin’s fondness for coming up with new insults for Arthur that usually involve a combination of a random vegetable and the suffix “-head.”

He misses the constant reassurances that he doesn’t get from anyone else, that yes, he’s doing the right thing, yes, his people love him, and yes, he will be a great king some day. As long as he stops being such a prat all of the time.

In short, Arthur misses Merlin with such a painful intensity that it makes him uncover something that he’s buried away into the recesses of his subconscious: he just may be a little in love with his manservant. Why it took Merlin being transformed into a dog for Arthur to finally come to this conclusion, he doesn’t know. Maybe he really is as oblivious as Morgana sometimes claims.

It’s not like it makes any difference. No matter what his feelings are, Arthur can never express them out in the open. It’s not only his father’s judgement that sways his decision (though it plays a very big part, as it does with everything else in Arthur’s life), but that of the people, of the kingdom. Every step Arthur takes has to be made for the good of Camelot, even if it threatens to tear his heart down two separate paths.

So he covers his emotions back up and pushes them deep down inside, smothering them under calcified layers of faked indifference and his own stubborn pride. It’s something that he’s had to become adept at over the years.

But much like Merlin himself, Arthur’s thoughts on the subject refuse to be silenced without a fight. They pester him day in and day out, making him second-guess every little thing he does. He now notices how often he smiles fondly in Merlin’s direction, or how he always seems to seek out some flimsy excuse to touch Merlin more often than necessary.

Once, upon returning to his chambers after training with the knights, Arthur found Merlin napping on the floor, basking in the afternoon sun. Arthur had dragged a blanket halfway across the room before he was consciously aware of what he was doing. 

He dropped it over Merlin’s sleeping form and ran, like the coward he has become.

It's worse when he first wakes up. While asleep, Arthur's mind has started concocting various fantasies involving Merlin, each one filthier and more obscene than the last. He wishes he could brush off such explicit dreams, but it's kind of hard to ignore the erection that tents the front of his sleep breeches every morning.

After three days of dunking his head in cold water, trying to will his erection away, or just walking stiffly for the rest of the morning--all to no avail--Arthur can no longer resist. He pulls his aching cock out of the confining fabric of his smallclothes and takes it in his hand, giving it an exploratory stroke. His palm is rough and callused from years of swordplay, and the friction of dry skin on skin almost too painful to bear. But there's prickly pleasure there too as he pumps, needing to take some of the edge off before he explodes.

Arthur bites down on his bottom lip so hard he can taste the metallic twang of blood on his tongue. But he has to remain quiet. He can't risk waking up Merlin, who continues to snooze away on the bed not even a foot away from him.

He takes his hand out from under the covers and licks a broad stripe down it before going back to work. The little smattering of moisture makes things easier, his cock feeling hot and heavy as it slides through his grasp. There's plenty of times where he's spent mornings like this, lazily tugging himself off in bed as the rain that canceled the day's training or tournament continued to pour outside. He's a healthy young man after all, and he has desires that can't be denied, whether he has a bed partner or not.

But it's never felt as intense and urgent as this. Everything is too much, too fast, yet not enough. Not nearly enough.

He makes the mistake of imagining that it's Merlin touching him, and that just makes everything ten times worse. Because the image of those long slim fingers--the same ones that dress him, fasten his armour, and polish his sword everyday--wrapped around his cock is almost more than Arthur can bear. But once he starts thinking about it, he can't stop: in his head, it's Merlin who is stroking him, fondling his balls, gripping the inside of his thighs.

It makes Arthur feel like he's burning up inside, restrained by too many layers of clothes. He wriggles out of them quickly and efficiently, and begins to toss them off to somewhere in the room. But he freezes mid-throw when he realizes how much he's making the mattress move, and steals an anxious glance in Merlin's direction.

It looks like he doesn't have to worry; Merlin hasn't budged a single inch. Knowing him, he could probably sleep through an entire enemy attack and then wake up wondering when breakfast was going to be served.

Now that Arthur's body is completely devoid of all articles of clothing, he can return to what he was doing before. The silk sheets stick to the slick, sweaty skin of his back and buttocks, clinging to him with every movement that he makes. He knows he's getting closer to climax with every second, but it still remains beyond his reach.

He groans loudly in frustration of it all, forgetting he's supposed to be silent. In some part of his consciousness, he's aware of a rustling noise not being made by him, but at this point he's too far gone to care any more. All he's focused on is achieving a release of the pressure that's been building up for days.

The sensation of a cold wet nose suddenly pressed against his shin shocks him enough to falter his actions. With a shaky hand, he pulls back the covers to find Merlin, blinking up at him.

"...Merlin!" Arthur tries to shout, but it comes out more like a hoarse croak. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Merlin's darkened eyes rove over Arthur's naked form without shame, almost violating with the fierceness of their gaze. Against Arthur's better judgement, he feels his body respond, his cock twitching with interest. But he doesn't want to make Merlin feel obligated into doing something about it; Arthur has much more honor than that.

"Merlin, I don't...I don't want you to think that..." he says, licking lips that have become too dry. The next words pain him to get out, but they need to be said, for the good of everyone involved: "...I think you should leave."

The expression on Merlin's face says everything his voice currently can not; Arthur can practically hear the insults to his character running through Merlin's head. Instead of doing what he's told (which, really should be no surprise by now), Merlin crawls forward on all fours to nuzzle the inside of Arthur's knee. His coarse fur tickles against the sensitive patch of skin, more erogenous than it has any right to be.

"Merlin, go," Arthur tries again, his tone unconvincing even to his own ears. "This is... I don't want to force you into anything."

Merlin huffs at that, and the moist heat from his breath sends a shiver of pure _want_ down Arthur's spine. Merlin creeps up the mattress until he's right between the concave of Arthur's legs, his muzzle resting underneath Arthur's sac.

Oh gods, to have him so close is pure torture. Every fiber of Arthur's being screams how wrong this is, memories of a story he heard as a boy flashing to mind. A lord from a neighboring country had been disgraced at court when it was brought to light that he liked to lie with a flock of sheep. At the time, Arthur was much too young to understand why his father had ranted and raved about the "depravity" of what "should have been a honorable member of royal society." As far as Arthur had been concerned, with all that wool on their bodies, sheep were just living pillows anyhow. Although a bit unorthodox, for the longest time Arthur thought the man should have been commended for his straightforward way of thought, and not have his title stripped from him before he was thrown into prison to rot. It was only later that he learned the true nature of the crime that had been committed, and how men fornicating with beasts was considered shameful and unnatural.

Arthur never thought he would be one to fall victim to such immoral urges.

But this is different. This is still _Merlin_ , dog or not, and all other arguments on why they shouldn't do this fly out of Arthur's head the moment Merlin begins to tentatively lick.

" _Fuck_ ," Arthur hisses, falling back onto the mattress with such force that stars dance in front of his vision. His erection (which had started to wilt from lack of attention) jerks in his cupped palm with renewed vigor, spurred on by Merlin now earnestly lapping at his skin. The speed with which he strokes his cock increases until his fist moving up and down looks more like a flesh-colored blur to his unfocused eyes. He’s close, so damn close, and his entire body trembles with unbridled tension.

Just when he thinks he can’t take any more, Merlin’s rough tongue circles Arthur’s hole, getting the tight ring of muscle sopping wet before pushing inside. Just the tip enters, and it’s enough to finally, _finally_ , push Arthur over the edge. He lets out a strained grunt as he shoots milky spurts of come that splatter his stomach white and drip down over his curled fingers.

Before Arthur can even grumble about the mess, Merlin is already there, licking him clean. Arthur can tell Merlin is trying to be mindful of his teeth, but every now and then there's a slight scrape of canines against already sensitive skin. It's enough to drive Arthur mad; not because it hurts, but because it's getting him excited again, even though he has just come harder than he has in his entire life.

"Merlin, stop," Arthur says as he clumsily tries to push Merlin away. "That's enough."

Merlin whines in protest at first, but then relents, shifting backwards on the bed. He paws at the patch of come drying on his nose before he raises his gaze back towards Arthur.

The two of them stare at each other wordlessly, the silence becoming so thick and stifling one could cut through it with a blade. Arthur has an inkling suspicion that Merlin is waiting for Arthur to say something about what's just happened. Like he now expects them to have a heartfelt discussion about their feelings or something equally sappy. But besides the fact that Arthur never wants to participate in such a conversation ever, he hardly considers it fair that he'd be the only one talking. Especially considering he has no idea what he to even say, or where to even start.

The entire nature of their relationship has been thrown off balance by a single moment, and now that he's come down from the high of orgasm, Arthur can feel the weight of his actions crushing him. He wants to do what he does best whenever he finds himself drawn closer to Merlin than what is considered acceptable: play the entire thing off as nothing. It's just...it's just easier that way. Less messy.

But before he can draw back into himself, into the shell of a prince who absolutely does not care for his foolish, idiotic, _lovable_ manservant, Merlin nudges his hand. He's giving Arthur _that look_. That look of admiration he sometimes get whenever he's proud of something Arthur's done, like Arthur has hung the stars and the moon and the whole damn night sky.

So Arthur can’t brush the whole thing off. Because _that look_ has become one of the most important things in the world to him.

“...Don’t worry,” he says, barely able to hear his own voice over the sound of his heartbeat, pounding like a blacksmith's hammer inside his head. “We’ll find a way to fix this. I promise.”

***

“I’ve read through everything I found written on the subject, and…”

“’And’?” Arthur asks. “Gaius, please tell you found a way to break the spell.”

Gaius snaps the old, musty book in his hands shut, the sound ringing out like a death knell. “I’m sorry, Sire, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Arthur closes his eyes and scrubs a hand across his face. He can‘t say he wasn‘t expecting that answer; it’s already been two weeks since the encounter with the sorceress, and Arthur is starting to fear that Merlin will be stuck as a dog forever.

Before, Arthur might have made some joke about the curse giving him a much needed respite from his manservant's incessant chattering and constant failings. But now he feels like he'll soon go mad if they don't find a way to reverse the enchantment.

Arthur just can't-- _won't_ sit back and do nothing. He's made a promise to Merlin that they're going to fix this, and he's not going to let anything stop him from fulfilling his vow. Even if some serious magic is involved.

He wants Merlin back. Actually, he just wants Merlin, period.

After that early morning incident in bed, Arthur thought the air would be strained and awkward between the two of them. And true, for the rest of that day, Arthur couldn’t even look in Merlin’s direction without shame filling his cheeks in remembrance of what they had done.

But later that night, when Merlin had settled in between Arthur’s legs like it was the most natural thing in the world, Arthur allowed himself to give into weakness again. And again. And again. Until he was coming dry and Merlin was panting heavily, grinding himself against Arthur in a desperate and futile attempt to get some release as well.

But they can’t keep this up forever, and not just because Arthur would rather the relationship continue only if they were both human. Uther is bound to find out that Arthur hasn’t rid himself of Merlin like instructed, or someone could catch the two of them in the act.

They’ve already had one close call. Thank the gods that the maid dropping off Arthur’s breakfast this morning didn’t pull back the heavy curtains that surrounded the bed frame, or she would have received one hell of a sight: the Crown Prince, sweaty, trembling, and naked, knees pulled up to his chest and ass high in the air as his hole was being licked clean by his “beloved pet.” Arthur still has the teeth marks on his knuckles from from where he bit into his fist to muffle the obscene noises he was making at the time.

“…Surely there must be _something_ ,” Arthur says, shaking his head to clear the memory from the forefront of his mind. “We’re running out of time here. My father is beginning to question Merlin’s absence, and whether or not it would just be better to assign me a replacement. So as much as I would love a manservant that’s actually decent at his job for once, we need to get Merlin back.”

The prospect of losing Merlin forever bothers Arthur more than he would like to admit; more than that, it downright _terrifies_ him. It must show on his face, because instead of being insulted by Arthur’s attempt at a joke, Merlin nuzzles his hand and gives a quick lick to the heel of his palm. By all rights, it should be the other way around in this situation, with Arthur comforting Merlin in the face of their dismal prospects. But like always, the damn self-righteous idiot is putting Arthur before himself.

“Trust me, Sire, if it was in my power to change Merlin back, I would have done so willingly already,” Gaius says, sighing. “But this is ancient and powerful magic we’re dealing with. I’m afraid the only person capable of performing this type of enchantment would be a High Priestess of the Old Religion, and the only way it would be reversed is if the demands of the original spell are met.”

“What demands?” Arthur asks. “What, do I have to track down that old woman again, plant some fresh magical herbs or something in retribution for accidentally disturbing her garden?”

“I don’t know if it’s as simple as that,” Gaius says, selecting another book and holding it open to a page in a strange language that Arthur doesn’t really understand. “These kind of curses are designed to teach their victims a lesson. Only when the enchanted person makes amends for the supposed wrong-doings are they restored to their original forms.” He taps at a certain line of text that’s under a drawing of man being turned into a newt. “Because the spell was intended for you, it may be that you have to complete some sort of task before Merlin is changed back.”

It takes Arthur less than a minute to come to a decision. “Gaius, inform my father that I’m leaving right away for a hunting trip. We stumbled upon the woman’s hut close to the border of Essentir, so it should only take us one or two days to travel.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow, his lips flattening into worried line. “Sire, I want Merlin back as much as you do, but I advise you to think carefully about this. What if the sorceress asks you for something you aren’t prepared to give?”

 _I’d give it anyway,_ Arthur thinks grimly. _Anything that is mine to give away, including my own life._

He knows Merlin would protest at such as response, but would provide the exact same one in a heartbeat if their roles were reversed.

“Don’t worry, Gaius,” Arthur says instead, his voice dripping with a confidence he doesn’t truly feel. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

Right then, Arthur really needs to learn not to ask rhetorical questions.

Because not only are they unable to locate the sorceress again (and not for a lack of Arthur's tracking skills, either), the skies have decided to open up and dump buckets of rain on top of their heads. And just when they’re drenched from head to toe--leaving them cold, damp, and miserable--that’s when what looks like a group of bandits comes out of nowhere and surrounds them.

“Well, what do we have here?” the apparent ringleader asks, his lips curling into a wicked grin, full of malice and rotten teeth. “You look a bit lost there. Doesn’t he, boys?”

Arthur tries not to roll his eyes as the rest of the group let out a series of sniggers. Dirty clothes, tarnished weapons, multiple battlescars, poor hygiene, and now trite means of intimidation Arthur has heard a hundred times before?

Yeah, definitely bandits.

Arthur carefully weighs his options. He can bet that he’s three times the warrior that any of them would ever be, which means he could probably take down two or three at a time. Maybe even four, if he plays his hand right.

Problem is, he counts at least sixteen. And who knows how many more are skulking in the woods nearby.

“Look, I have no quarrel with you,” Arthur says, even as he tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his side, “so if you just let me be on my way, no danger will befall you and your--”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before they drag him down from his horse. He fights them off at first, getting a grim sense of satisfaction when one of his attackers spurts blood from his nose thanks to a well-placed elbow, another one howling as they hop around with a now sore foot.

But there’s much too many of them. They relieve him of all his weapons and force him down to his knees, stilling his struggle by pointing his own sword against his neck.

“No, I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” the leader says, pressing in the tip of the sword just enough to nick Arthur’s skin. “In fact, I have--Arghhh!”

The bandit leader accidentally drops the sword in pain as he turns around to find Merlin, hackles raised and teeth sinking into the back of the man’s thigh. The man screams and tries to shake him off, but Merlin just growls and bites down harder, his message coming in clear: he won’t let any harm come to his master.

Thanks to the distraction, Arthur is able to pull free and lunge for the dropped sword. He disposes of the two men that were holding him in place before turning back just in time to see the leader land a punch squarely to Merlin’s ribs. Merlin yelps, releasing his grip on the man’s leg as he falls back.

“You stupid dog!” the leader roars, bringing his good leg back to kick at Merlin. “I’ll kill you firs--”

The sword sings through the air before Arthur slams it through the leader’s belly. Even though Arthur knows it’s enough for the wound to be fatal, he jerks it out, only to stab the man again, releasing his anger and frustration over Merlin being injured into the intensity of his blows. The leader falls heavily on the blade, gaping at Arthur with glassy eyes and a slackened jaw, and then slides lifelessly to the ground.

“Merlin,” Arthur grits out, his teeth clenched. “Merlin, are you okay?”

Merlin lets out a whine, his breathing heavy and haggard as he struggles to stand upright. Arthur sighs in relief, thanking the gods that Merlin is still alive.

They can’t relax just yet. Because instead of scattering after the death of their leader like Arthur had hoped, the remaining bandits advance upon them, enraged by the loss of their comrades. Arthur is confident that he can take down a few more of them--even though his body is now beginning to ache in protest every time he lifts his sword above his head--but he’s not delusional. The very least he can do is hold the bandits at bay long enough for Merlin to escape.

“Merlin, run,” he says, using the most authoritative tone he can muster. “ _Run!_ ”

The sound of metal clanging reverberates through the air as the bandits strike at him from all sides, blocking his view of Merlin. Arthur just prays that Merlin has listened to him for once and has retreated to somewhere safe, somewhere that he can’t see what will most likely be Arthur’s final fate.

But Arthur’s not going without a fight. He parries off most of the attacks, and raises his sword to deliver a hacking blow--

\--only nearly stumble forward when his blade slices through empty air as all the bandits are thrown backwards by an invisible force. Some of them hit the trunks of nearby trees with such an impact that they will never rise up again, while others have their fall cushioned by rolling in the mud and the muck. Before they even have a chance to recover, a whirlwind whips through the men, tossing them again like ragdolls. The ones left surviving after such an ordeal run--or in most cases, limp--away, yelling out in terror.

Arthur recognizes this ungodly gust of wind. It’s the same as the one in Ealdor, the major reason behind Kanen and his men’s defeat. Which can only mean one thing.

While he's known about Merlin's magic for awhile now, Arthur has never technically seen it being brought into action. It makes easier to pretend he doesn't know, because if he hasn't watched Merlin perform it directly, he can say hasn't seen any evidence of Merlin being a sorcerer.

But he can no longer deny the truth, not when his gaze automatically seeks Merlin out and comes face to face with Merlin's golden-eyed stare.

"... _Merlin_ ," Arthur whispers, too awed by the sight to utter anything else.

Merlin's head snaps to attention at that, and the molten gold of his widened eyes fades to be replaced with a fearful blue. He and Arthur continue to stare at each other, the rest of the world around them struck silent by the strength of their shock. Neither of them move, seemingly rooted to the ground, though the trembling of Merlin's body is visible even from where Arthur is standing.

Before Arthur can open his mouth to say something, anything, Merlin's eyes suddenly roll into the back of his head, and he crumples like a flower wilting in the heat.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouts, immediately rushing to his side. He drops to his knees and runs his hands through Merlin's fur, rewarded when he feels the steady thrum of a heartbeat underneath his fingertips.

"...You idiot," Arthur says, quickly wiping the corners of his stinging eyes before he hefts Merlin's unconscious form into his arms. "Of course you would faint at a time like this."

***

The cave Arthur finds is dark and cramped, its walls reeking of mold, mildew, and decay. Sharp rocks jut out precariously from all angles, and it must have been the home of some sort of creature at one time, judging by the animal bones and tufts of fur strewn everywhere. But it provides enough shelter from the storm that continues to rage outside, smothering the landscape with sheets upon sheets of rain.

Arthur manages to make a small fire, but it isn’t much. Most of the kindling is too wet to light, and the stuff that does burn forms a thick, choking smoke that blurs his vision and rubs his throat raw. He tries to think of how many times Merlin must have used magic to dry the wood whenever they went on trips like this, but soon loses count. It just serves as another reminder (albeit a small one) of how sorcery has helped his life rather than hinder it.

Nightfall is approaching when Merlin finally begins to stir from the nest Arthur made from his cloak and their travel bedding. Merlin doesn’t return to full consciousness right away, the fondness in his eyes undiluted as his gaze zeroes in on Arthur. He’s giving _that look_ again, as if it’s pure instinct whenever he sees Arthur now.

Arthur doesn’t want to read into the meaning behind that look more than he has already. Instead he waits, pinpointing the exact moment Merlin remembers what exactly happened: his eyes widen and then dart frantically to and fro, no doubt searching for a means of escape.

“ _Don’t move_ ,” Arthur says, and perhaps his command is a little colder than necessary. But even though he knew about Merlin’s magic before, he’s still angry. Angry that Merlin never thought to tell him. Angry that Merlin didn’t trust him, and by the looks of it, still doesn’t. But most of all he’s angry that Merlin didn’t leave like he was supposed to and got hurt in the process.

Arthur’s angrier at himself for that letting that last one happen.

Merlin freezes in place at Arthur’s words, and then swallows with an audible click. He inches forward carefully before throwing himself down at the ground by Arthur’s feet. Arthur doesn’t understand what’s going on until Merlin lowers his head, closes his eyes, and exhales a resigned sigh.

...Oh. Oh dear gods. Merlin probably thinks that Arthur now hates him, and wants him dead because he used magic. And instead of trying to use said magic to run away, here he is, presenting himself on the proverbial silver platter. After he’s just saved Arthur’s life for the umpeteenth time.

“ _Of all the foolish things..._ ” Arthur growls, scooping Merlin up and placing him back on the makeshift pallet. “I said don’t move because you probably haven’t completely recovered from the stunt you pulled earlier. I don’t think your ribs are broken, but they’re going to be sore for a few more hours. And I don’t know how much rest you need after taking out all those men with your magic.”

Merlin stiffens at that, his fur sticking up at odd angles as he looks up at Arthur, questioning.

“Yes, I’ve known about that for awhile now,” Arthur says, scoffing. “Really, Merlin, do you think I’m so stupid that I wouldn’t have figured it out? I pieced it all together after the third bandit leader that was slain by a falling tree branch while my back was turned towards him. I’m good, but I’m not _that_ good.”

_...You really knew? All this time?_

Arthur startles at the sound of the voice, his hand instantly going for his sword as he tries to seek out the source. But funny enough, it almost sounds like--

 _Arthur, wait!_ Merlin places his paw against Arthur’s arm, whining softly. _It’s me._

“...Merlin?” Arthur asks, raising his eyebrows when he realizes the voice is coming from inside his head. “How is that even possible--" He stops, and then sighs. "Wait, don’t tell me.”

Merlin nods, sheepish. _Err, yeah. Gaius and I weren’t sure if you’d be able to hear me. And there was also the whole ‘you aren’t supposed to know about my magic’ thing as well. ...Though I guess I don’t have to worry about that any longer._

Well, that certainly explains a lot. Arthur ducks his head to hide the fact that he’s grinning despite himself. “Oh, I don’t know about that, _Mer_ lin. There’s the fact that you’ve been keeping this a secret from me all this time. I’m pretty sure that’s a punishable offense in itself.”

At least Merlin has the decency to appear contrite. _I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel like your loyalties were being torn because of me, and I wasn’t sure if you’d really understand. I can’t I’m proud of everything I’ve done, but I’ve done it all for you. I just...I just want you to know that before you decide what to do with me._

“...I know,” Arthur says softly, leaning forward so he can press their foreheads together. “I know. Others might not see it like that, especially my father. But I promise you, one day, when I’m King, you won’t have to hide who you are any more.”

 _...I believe in you._ Merlin licks Arthur’s nose. _I always have._

Arthur smiles softly and lets out a low, rumbling laugh that echoes throughout the cave. He then turns his face towards Merlin’s cheek and inhales deeply, grimacing when the odor of wet dog and dried blood assaults his senses. But underneath it lies a musky, earthy scent that reminds him of freshly tilled fields and crisp spring rains that he’s come to recognize as uniquely Merlin’s.

Out of the two of them, one would think Merlin would be the one with the increased obsession with smell. But Arthur finds himself affected by it as well, his cock starting to swell between his legs the longer he breathes in. It’s only when he reminds himself of their recent ordeal that he pulls back, not willing to proceed any further while Merlin is injured.

“Get some sleep,” he says, his words sticking in his throat and clacking against the back of his teeth. “We ride out at dawn.”

But Merlin isn’t fooled for a second. _Arthur, you can’t sleep like that. Your clothes are still soaked._

Arthur looks down at himself. Even though he’s managed to remove his chainmail and the rest of his armor without any assistance, he’s still wearing his tunic and trousers, the damp and chilled fabric clinging to him like a second skin. He hesitates, but decides he doesn’t really like the prospects of dying from a cold just because he remained in wet clothes. He methodically peels everything off, draping them over rocks near the fire in hopes that they’ll be dry by morning.

Now that he’s stripped bare, his half-hardened cock is able to spring free from any hindrance. Merlin stares at it unabashedly, licking his lips, his pupils dilating until his eyes look nearly black. Arthur feels a rush of heat bloom in his cheeks at sight, and finds it harder to resist giving into temptation.

“Move over,” he says roughly, plopping down onto the furs and draping his cloak over his and Merlin’s bodies. It's a common practice among his knights to share body heat when the weather turns too cold for comfort. So when he presses himself firmly against Merlin, Arthur tells himself it's just the logical thing to do.

But all logic flies out of his head the moment Merlin tucks himself underneath Arthur's arm, snuffling at his armpit. His breath is hot and moist against Arthur's skin, and after a few seconds, his rough tongue darts out of his mouth to lap at the thin sheen of sweat and grime that's gathered there.

"Merlin," Arthur groans, his hips unconsciously shifting against the pallet. "Merlin, what are you doing? We shouldn't be...don’t..."

Merlin pops up his head at that, and then looks away sadly. _...You don't want to do this anymore._

"Idiot," Arthur says, gently grasping Merlin's muzzle in his hand. "I think it should be obvious that I'm interested. It's just that you're still injured."

 _I'm fine._ Merlin settles back down, licking his way from Arthur's armpit to his chest, circling his nipples until they form round, tight buds. _Really, my ribs don't hurt that much any more._

"Merlin..."

 _Please Arthur._ Merlin places a paw on Arthur's stomach in an effort to hold him still. _Let me have this._ Please _._

Arthur shivers at the desperate need in Merlin's tone, and then nods. He threads his fingers through the coarse, wiry fur on Merlin's head, pretending it's a mop of silky dark hair as Merlin trails further down Arthur's body.

Recently they've fallen into a routine where Arthur will stroke himself to climax as Merlin licks him in the most intimate of areas. But in the back of his head, Arthur's cultivated a desire to go beyond that. He's never been able to voice it aloud before, too afraid that he would be crossing a line by just mentioning it.

Until now.

“I want to fuck you,” he blurts out, and then grimaces when he realizes how off it sounds when put into words. But awkward or not, the meaning remains the same. It’s too late to take it back.

 _Oh gods yes._ Merlin whines. _Do you still keep the oil used for polishing your sword in your pack?_

Arthur sits up, reaching for the rucksack that holds their supplies. He searches through it frantically before he locates a vial that’s been wrapped in a old rag to keep the glass from shattering during travel. He uncorks it, liberally coating his fingers until they gleam and shine in the light of the fire.

Merlin turns over, going down on all fours before raising his backside in the air. Arthur pushes his tail out of the way without a second thought on how bizarre the situation is, circling his hole with one oiled finger. “You sure about this?”

_Do it. Please Arthur._

Despite Merlin’s eagerness, Arthur is still reserved in his movements, pressing in slowly until he’s knuckle-deep in wet, slick heat. He pulls out just as carefully, and then back in, amazed by how excited he’s getting over just his finger sinking into Merlin. He adds another finger, and then another, increasing the pace of his thrusts over time.

Merlin whimpers, his claws snagging fabric as they dig into the pallet. But just as Arthur is about to stop in fear that’s he’s hurting him, Merlin’s voice rings out in his head. _Gods, Arthur, don’t stop. That feels so damn good._

Arthur curses under his breath as he slams into Merlin, unable to hold back any more. His cock is red and straining as it presses against his stomach, oozing with pre-come. He wants, he wants so badly, but Merlin is still too damn tight--

_Stop teasing and just do it already!_

“You are going to be the death of me,” Arthur growls as he yanks his fingers out, using the remaining oil to slick himself up. He presses the head of his dick into Merlin’s swollen hole, giving Merlin time to get used to the stretch.

Merlin’s head falls forward as he pants, his hips canting against the ground for extra friction. _More, please, Arthur._

“Such a greedy little thing,” Arthur says, chuckling as he fully seats himself inside Merlin. He has take a moment to calm down and recollect his senses, or he’ll come right then and there just from the sensation. When he’s regained enough control, he curls his body over Merlin and whispers in his ear, “Tell me, before, back in my bed. What sort of things were you thinking about? When I wasn’t able to hear you.”

 _And you call me greedy?_ Merlin huffs, and then whines as Arthur snaps his hips back. _I was thinking about how I wanted to do that to you for awhile now, have you at my mercy--Arthur, fuck, right there!_

“Your mercy, huh?” Arthur murmurs, his lips twitching into a smug grin. He grabs Merlin by the scruff of his neck as he thrusts again, pounding his cock into Merlin. “Go on, Merlin. Tell me.”

Merlin growls weakly as he tries to glare back towards Arthur. _I hate you so much sometimes._

“I doubt that,” Arthur says, but still releases his grip. He pats Merlin’s fur down, running a hand down his spine that’s meant to be soothing. “Sorry, is this better?”

 _You prat._ Merlin huffs again, but still arches into Arthur’s touch. _As I was saying, I wanted to do that with you, even before I was turned into--Ahh, ahh, Arthur!_

Arthur understands; he’s getting close too. He grunts as his muscles begin to tighten, turning into his smooth, fluid movements into jerky, power-packed thrusts. He calls out Merlin’s name as he comes, fast and hard, his orgasm rushing through him and leaving him breathless. Merlin howls in response, his whole body shuddering with the force of his climax, and then they fall together into a heap of sweaty skin and matted fur.

As soon as he can move without feeling like his limbs are about to fall out of their sockets, Arthur removes his softening cock from Merlin’s hole before fatigue sets in completely. He tugs Merlin into his arms, pressing his lips against Merlin’s temple before mumbling something about getting some rest. Merlin doesn’t respond, but judging by the soft snoring Arthur hears before drifting off to sleep, there’s no need.

***

“Arthur.”

Arthur groans, and tries to shield himself from the rays of sunlight beating down on his face. Only one person would risk facing his wrath in the early mornings; why is he stuck with a servant who doesn’t realize that the curtains in front of his bedroom windows are usually closed for a reason--

“Arthur, _wake up_!”

...Wait a minute. _Wait a minute._

Arthur jolts awake, springing to an upright position and immediately regretting it. His body is stiff and sore from the lying on the hard ground, his head still clouded and groggy from sleep, and his skin cold and clammy from the chill in the air.

But none of this really registers in his mind. Because he’s too busy staring at Merlin, who is sitting by him, completely human. “...Merlin! You’re back!”

“Nothing gets by you, does it, Sire?” Merlin says dryly, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “When I woke up, I was like this, and we were back here.”

“‘Here’?” Arthur echoes. He’s too scared to look elsewhere, afraid that if he even blinks, it will all be an illusion and Merlin will go back to being a dog. He finally tears his gaze away when Merlin gestures to their surroundings, and Arthur’s eyes widen when he sees they’re no longer in the cave, but in the garden of the very sorceress they’ve been searching for. “How did we...After everything, why now?”

Merlin shrugs. “I don’t know. I checked around, but I don’t think that sorceress is here any more; the place almost looks abandoned. But there was a note--”

“Let me see.” Arthur takes the piece of faded parchment out of Merlin’s hands, squinting at the spidery thin handwriting. “‘ _Dear Prince Arthur, Once and Future King_ ’ ...What does that mean?”

“There’s this prophecy” Merlin says, “about you being this great king that will unite Albion someday. I’d tell you more about, but your head is big enough as it is.” He laughs, and then scoots closer to Arthur. “What does the rest of the letter say?”

Arthur scowls at the comment about his ego, but continues anyway. “‘ _I had my doubts about you, especially when I caught you trampling through my garden like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum_ \--’ What? I did no such thing!”

“Keep reading, Arthur.”

“‘ _But perhaps I was a bit harsh. That fact that Emrys was the one who willingly took on the effects of the spell_ \--’ Wait, ‘Emrys’?”

“Oh, um, that’s me,” Merlin says, squirming. “It’s what the Druids call me. I think I’m part of the prophecy as well? There’s this thing about us being two sides of the same coin and sharing a destiny, and, um...”

Arthur raises an eyebrow that promises the two of them will have a serious talk later. “‘-- _Emrys was the one who willingly took on the effects of the spell should have spoken to me about your character. Now, after careful thought and observation, it seems I have judged you too hastily. While I believe you still have a long way to go, I no longer harbor any ill will against you, and release you from the curse. Farewell, Arthur Pendragon, and remember that you do have allies in magic, once you allow it to return to these lands._ ’”

Its message completed and received by its intended party, the piece of parchment glows brightly in Arthur’s hands and then bursts into a shower of sparks. Outstretching his palm, Merlin murmurs something under his breath, the sparks transforming into the Pendragon crest before they fade away into nothing.

“...She just wanted what a lot of people--good, honest, _innocent_ people--want, Arthur,” Merlin says, his voice soft, airy, and full of hope. “For you finally respect magic and accept it.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and gently cuffs Merlin on the back of his head. “I didn’t accept magic, Merlin, I accepted _you_. In fact, I’m a bit more wary of magic on a whole if it allows perverted old ladies to turn us into animals and spy on us just get her kicks.”

He jokes about it now, but deep down Arthur knows Merlin is right. He can no longer turn a blind eye to the fact that Merlin is a sorcerer and has used magic inside the boundaries of Camelot. And instead of condemning it like his father, Arthur has basically promised Merlin would be allowed to practice freely when Arthur is king.

In the end, Arthur has accepted magic, because Merlin himself is magic.

With his hand still on the back of Merlin’s head, Arthur brings him closer, whispering, “Things will change. I gave you my word last night, didn’t I?”

“...Arthur.” Merlin trembles under his touch, like a leaf being buffeted around in a windstorm. He pauses, his hands fidgeting. “About...about what we did, when I was...I mean, was it because you wanted to with me, or is there some secret fetish that I should probably know abou--”

“ _Shut up, Merlin_ ,” Arthur snaps, and then he kisses him.

It seems a bit backward to be kissing Merlin for the first time, after everything else they’ve already done together. But it’s something Arthur has been thinking about for awhile now, and it’s turning out to be well worth the wait.

After letting out a muffled sound of surprise, Merlin responds the same way he does with most things in that he throws his entire self into the fray. He surges against Arthur, and the two of them topple over together, landing in the comfort of the lush, sweet-smelling grass that grows around them.

Arthur brings one of his hands up, dragging his fingers through Merlin’s hair and across his scalp. Merlin keens in response, his eyes fluttering shut, and Arthur chuckles. “You still like to be petted, I see.”

“And I still think I need to warn the castle steward for when he takes care of your dogs,” Merlin says, his impish smile growing when he sees the look of horror and disgust on Arthur’s face. “Wouldn’t want him to catch you making late night visits to the kennel, would we?”

“ _Idiot_. And here I was beginning to think I actually missed hearing your ridiculous ramblings.” Arthur traces Merlin’s pink, plump lips with his thumb, eyes flashing dark when Merlin sticks his tongue out and licks the pad. “It was only you that I care about, not what you looked like or type of body you were in.”

It’s not exactly a confession, but it’s the closest thing that Arthur will ever admit out loud. Merlin seems to realize this too, judging by the way his expression softens.

“Me too,” he whispers, hovering over Arthur’s lips with his own. “Me too, Arthur.”

They kiss again, desperate and sloppy, working around awkward angles and pushing boundaries as they discover what works best. And then it’s glorious as Arthur licks his way inside Merlin’s mouth, their combined saliva coating their lips glossy as they slide against one another with a bruising force. Teeth graze swollen flesh, biting, nipping, sucking, until their mouths feel raw and sore, used.

It’s wet, and messy, and maybe a little bit disgusting if Arthur really took the time to think about it. But all coherent thoughts seem to disappear whenever he’s in Merlin’s vicinity. Except for one, blaring in the forefront of Arthur’s mind: more. He wants more.

Merlin seems to have the same idea, because he pulls away, gasping for breath before he lowers his head once again. He kisses along the chiseled ridge of Arthur’s jaw, down to his neck, sucking the skin hard enough to leave a mark. Arthur shifts his hips upwards, very acutely aware that they’re both still naked from the previous night as their bare skin glides against one another. He slides his arm in the space between where their bodies are pressed together, cupping their cocks in the palm of his hand and giving them an exploratory stroke.

Merlin sucks in air sharply between his teeth, and then moans, a deep rumble that vibrates against Arthur’s skin, setting his whole body ablaze. Merlin bites again, scraping his teeth down to Arthur’s chest, leaving behind red, angry marks.

“Merlin,” Arthur mumbles, and then curses, tightening his fingers into a circle around their cocks. It’s mostly for his benefit; while being with Merlin in dog form was more amazing than he thought possible, it’s a million times better when Merlin is in his human body and can do so much more. Arthur wonders how his manservant learned to be so experienced in situations like this, and a sudden pang of jealousy shoots through his gut as a result. Now Arthur is more determined than ever to make Merlin _his_ , and his alone.

Merlin hums in response, tugging free from Arthur as he moves lower. He gives Arthur’s cock a quick kiss on the tip, coating his lips with the pre come that beads there. But he mostly passes it by in favor of going down even farther, to behind Arthur’s balls. He licks a broad stripe across the sensitive stretch of skin there before swirling his tongue around Arthur’s hole.

Arthur groans, his fingers once again finding their way into Merlin’s hair. They’ve done this countless times before, but it feels new, fresh, foreign. Merlin’s nose is no longer cold and wet when nestled under Arthur’s sac, and his tongue is smoother as he laps at the skin until the cleft of Arthur’s ass is sopping wet.

He sucks the tight ring of muscle before finally darting his tongue inside, and Arthur all but shouts his name. “Merlin!”

His mouth too busy to respond, Merlin continues to lick, using his hands to spread Arthur’s legs farther apart. He moans and whines as he works, the sound wanton and delicious as it bounces around in Arthur’s eardrums.

Arthur begins to stroke himself again, his cock stiff and hard, just aching to be touched. He could easily come like this--he has before, and is close enough now--but it isn’t enough to satisfy him. Not this time.

“Merlin, wait,” he says, gasping. “The oil, grab the oil.”

Merlin nods, blindly reaching out for the rucksack. The bottle flies through the air into his hand, and Arthur idly thinks how much easier both their lives will be now that Merlin can use magic more freely around him.

Just as Merlin begins to change positions, Arthur stops him by grabbing onto his forearm. “What are you doing?”

“I was just--” Merlin says, his babbling a cross between comical and endearing. “I thought...”

Arthur rolls his eyes, trying to look calm, even as his heart rattles against his ribcage. “Might as well finish the job your tongue started.”

Merlin widens his eyes, and lets out a strangled sort of gulp. He uncorks the vial with shaking hands, slicking two of his long, slim fingers. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t have all day, _Mer_ lin.”

“Prat,” Merlin huffs under his breath as he presses both fingers in without warning. Arthur hisses at the initial burn, but it rapidly fades away, the process aided along by the slippery mixture of oil and saliva.

Merlin gives Arthur a moment to acclimatize to the fingers in his ass, and then begins to move them in and out. He looks so focused and determined, like he’s afraid he might make a mistake, that Arthur just has to ask: “You have done this before, right?”

“What?” Merlin blinks, and then realizes he’s being insulted. Instead of sulking or becoming apologetic like Arthur expected, he just grins. “Oh yeah, all the time, whenever I’m not running around doing chores for you or Gaius. I’ll get alone in my bed, oil my fingers up, do stuff like this--” he crooks his fingers inside Arthur’s ass, his grin widening at when Arthur nearly chokes, “--and wank myself silly while thinking about your stupid face.”

It was bad idea to goad him on. Because not only can Merlin prove he knows what he’s doing, now Arthur has the mental image of Merlin opening himself up and calling out Arthur’s name while he gets off. Arthur lets out a very unprincely moan at that idea, his hand clamping down on his cock.

Suddenly, Merlin whips out his fingers to stroke at himself, and whimpers. “Please, Arthur, I need to...”

Arthur nods, fighting the urge to beg Merlin to fuck him senseless already. Princes of Camelot simply do not beg, especially for their servant’s cocks. No matter how much they may want it.

He already knows he’s fighting a losing battle if only the tip of Merlin’s cock pushing inside is nearly enough to make him come. Arthur just hopes Merlin is as close as he is, or else this is going to end in major disappointment for the both of them.

Merlin starts off moving as clumsily as he did with his fingers, but soon his thrusts fall into a steady crescendo. His fingers lock into the sides of Arthur's hips, fingers scrambling to keep traction against sweat slicked skin as he moves.

Gods, Arthur feels like he's going to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces if he doesn't get to climax soon. He strokes his cock to the tempo of his breath hitching in his chest, and feels his balls tighten in anticipation. It's only a matter of time until--

"Come on, Sire," Merlin says, undulating his hips with more power than should be present in his scrawny body. " _Come on._ "

They’re going to have to add a discussion about rushing the Crown Prince to that serious talk they’ll have later. But at the moment, Arthur doesn’t care. He lets out an undignified shout as he comes, loud enough to scatter the birds roosting in the nearby treetops. Within seconds, his hand, his stomach, and even some of his chest is covered in thick, milky spurts as he strokes himself through completion.

Merlin follows soon afterwards, thrusting one last time before he stills, eyes closed and jaw slacked. He remains locked in that position for a few seconds before he falls forward as the strength in his arms seems to give out. He’s heavier than he looks, and one of his bony elbows is poking into Arthur’s side, but Arthur is too drained to move or even complain. The two of them lay like that for what feels like ages, chests heaving as they gulp for air like drowning men.

But then alarm bells start ringing out in the back of Arthur’s mind, growing louder when Merlin finally goes to pull out, and then stops. “...Um, there might be a problem.”

“Merlin,” Arthur hisses when he feels a swelling at the base of Merlin’s cock catch on the rim of his hole. “What the hell is _that_?”

“Um,” Merlin says again as his still erect dick continues to spurt systematically inside Arthur. “I think...I might have not changed _completely_ back to normal?” He gives Arthur a sheepish grin. “It looks like you’re stuck with me for awhile after all.”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur groans, slapping a hand over his face. “What have I told you about trying to be funny?”

“You say that now,” Merlin says, leaning down to nuzzle Arthur’s neck while they wait for themselves to be untied, “but you know you love it.”

And yeah, maybe, Arthur just might.


End file.
